Living With John and Sherlock
by BornOn413
Summary: After my parents were burtally murdered, I make it my personal mission to make sure that something like that never happens to anyone else. What better way to do that than to train under the great detective himself?


I'm not really sure how I ended up here at 221B... Well, I mean, I do know how I got here. I came by plane then by bus then by taxi, but I'm not sure why I wanted to come. I guess it all started when my parents died. Okay, they didn't really die. They were murdered by a man in a black ski mask with a dragon tattoo on his right hand and a pentacle on the tip of his left thumb. You could say that I wanted to hunt down the man and kill him myself or at least bring him to justice. But that would be a dirty lie, and you should stop assuming things. I want to make sure that something like that never happens again, and I figured the best way to catch a murderer is to investigate murders. So, why not start with one of the best and only consulting detectives in the world?

All of this ran through my mind as I stood in front of 221B, Baker Street. I squeezed my suitcase and turned back to the cab behind me, checking to see if it was still there. It was. It wasn't like the cab was going anywhere; I had paid the cabbie extra to stay until I could get help to unload my bags. I was here in London, and there was no way I was going home. It cost the remainder of my shattered family way too much to send me here.

I raised my left hand and rang the buzzer once. I waited for about two minutes and I began to raise my hand to press the buzzer again and the door swung open almost soundlessly. Behind the threshold stood a tall man in a thin, dark robe, his feet were bare and he was very pale. I looked up into his face and saw eyes that had seen a million things and could tell an innumerable amount of murder mysteries. His eyes were blue and green like the Caribbean Sea before a storm, a storm of pure thinking power covered in a shield of ice. His face was long, his nose thin with a slight crook. He must have broken it in a fight as a child. He had very high cheek bones and thin lips that barely parted as he began to speak. I beat him to it.

"Are you Sherlock Holmes?" It wasn't a question. It was a deduction. I saw it register in his eyes as he understood.

"Yes. And you would be?"

I smiled slightly as I briefly ran through all the possible answers in my head. I settled on the one that seemed the most appropriate: "Someone of possible importance. May I come in, Mister Holmes?"

He paused briefly before stepping to the side. I picked up my suitcase by the handle and jogged up the steps and turned to the left at the second landing. As anticipated, Sherlock had left the door open to 221B and I simply allowed myself in, with Sherlock trailing behind me. I gently set my suitcase down on the floor next to one of the two black armchairs and paused. I turned back around to face the man that was following me, "I left some more of my things in the cab, I'll be right back."

I rushed down the stairs, alone. After two trips of carrying boxes upstairs, I collapsed into the chair, which was now surrounded by boxes of various sizes and shapes. I heaved a sighed and felt my mind buzz a little. It was about five-thirty in the morning and I was in London.

I still couldn't believe it. It had taken me about ten hours to get all the way here, but so far, it was worth it.

Sherlock sank down into the chair across from me. He touched each of his finger tips together thoughtfully as he looked me up and down once, twice. I knew what he was doing. It wasn't anything perverse, and I knew that this would happen. That was the whole point of me not changing my clothes during the entire trip. I was testing one of the best detectives in the world, whether he knew it or not.

I wondered where John, his ever faithful blogger was. Think of the devil, I heard the sound of bare feet on tile and John entered the living room from the adjoining kitchen.

"I'm assuming you're Doctor John H. Watson, yes?" I said. Yet again, this was not a question, it was a deduction. John, unfortunately, didn't notice.

His hazel eyes twinkled with curiosity and warmth, despite his military background. His blond hair was damp from a recent shower and his face was creased with lines from the sun beating down on it, probably from when he was serving as a doctor in Afghanistan. He wore a beige sweater and worn jeans; his feet were bare like Sherlock's. He had just woken up, seeing as how his hair was ruffled and his face was freshly shaved.

"That would be me." He replied oblivious to my deduction.

I smiled politely as he pulled up a chair from the desk near the windows and sat down in it.

Sherlock spoke first, "I assume you came here for a case."

"Wrong." I grinned, "I will tell you my business once you can tell me everything you can deduce just from my appearance and voice."

The dark haired man paused, slightly surprised. Finally he spoke again, "You are American. You are from Houston, Texas and you left from Bush Intercontinental Airport. You haven't changed clothes since you left Houston, and you were drawing with graphite and colored pencils on the flight. You're fairly artistic and you have a habit of picking at the skin on your right thumb when you're nervous. You had two... no, three cats, all of which you picked up and pet before you left from Houston. You have a reason to be here and if it's for a case, it must be very important for you to fly all the way to London.

Was that adequate enough for you?"

I smiled sweetly at him. "Yes. I hope you understand that I purposefully left those clues for you to find."

John looked vaguely confused as he tried to find the clues Sherlock had. Finally he said, "Amazing. How did you figure all of that out?"

Sherlock and I sighed simultaneously. I started first, pointing at the respective clues I had left scattered across my person "I wore my old converse that I had drawn on in Sharpie, as you can see they don't look terrible, and the designs are unique to only my shoes. I also wore my pants that have paint brush marks on them. My shirt is still wrinkled from sitting on the flight and I have cat hair on it from saying good bye to my black, tabby, and calico colored kitties. I have a callous on my thumb from picking at the skin and smudges on my hands from the pencils I was using to draw on the flight."

Sherlock followed my lead, "There's only one international airport in Houston, and she also has the tags on her suitcase. Also, her accent is distinctly educated western sounding."

I sat back in my chair, satisfied.

John raised his eye brows and looked away briefly before looking back at me.

"So why are you here?"

"Well." A flurry of thoughts and emotions ran through my head and I looked down into my hands. I knew that this was a huge mistake, but I didn't really care. I smiled a little at my hands "That seems like a bit of a loaded question, don't you think?

I debated whether I should mention my parents. I decided not to. "I wanted to be your apprentice. I don't have a lot of money, but I can be a house keeper and I could help run errands and cook. I just want to help you guys, you are kind of like my idols and... Yeah."

I felt my cheeks turn pink and I cursed my body for betraying my emotions.

I heard Sherlock shift a little in his chair, thinking. I began to pick nervously at my thumb as a very thick silence ensued. I began to regret even coming here and worry began to fill my mind. God I am so stupid. Why would the most amazing detective in Europe and his side-kick let me stay with them? All I was doing was making myself a possible target and they more vulnerable. I cursed my stupidity. Although, there was no turning back now and they would probably have to drag me kicking and scream back to that goddamned airport if they said no.

Sherlock broke the seemingly eternal silence, "Prove it."

"What?"

"Prove that you are a valuable asset to our cases and you may stay."

"No way." I grinned, feeling my chest fill with butterflies, "I can help you on a case?"

He pointed to the mirror above the mantle of the fire place to my left. "Those are some photos of clues from our most recent case. Analyze them."

I stood up and stared at each of the photos, one by one. Three of them had the same two symbols painted on various things, the back of a shelf in a library, across a statue in a museum, and on a portrait of a well-dressed man. The fourth photo was a picture of a wall covered in similar symbols, all in pairs. They were all painted with bright yellow spray paint. It must have been a cipher of some sort. There was also a black origami lotus pinned up in the corner. I began to speak:

"These are all part of a cipher. The three similar ones obviously all have the same meaning, but meant for different people. The symbols are come in pairs, so they must reference to something. These symbols are distinctly Asian, not letters, but more likely numbers. Why not letters? Because the eastern Asian languages that have an alphabet don't look like this. If it references numbers, then it could be longitude and latitude coordinates, but that's unlikely, because it's an inconvenient way to make a cipher.

Now, about the black origami lotus. This lotus was obviously made by someone who has made them often. There are no accidental creases, and the craftsmanship is very clean cut. Now, where do we find origami? Origami was practiced in Japan and China, which narrows down where this cipher could have come from. Since the Japanese don't have number symbols that look like those, they must be Chinese. Obviously, this must be some sort of gang from China. Doing what? I don't know."

I shook my head and grinned sheepishly "Sorry, I'm done talking now."

I sat back down and I noticed Sherlock's eyes were twinkling like a mad scientist's does when his experiment turns out to be a success.

John's eyebrows rose briefly in surprise again.

"You may stay." Sherlock said, "But you had better be a good asset, otherwise you're going to be out the door."

I was so excited I leaped up out of my chair and hugged Sherlock "Oh my goodness! Thank you so much! I never thought that this day would ever come!"

Sherlock sat in the chair, his arms were raised, obviously unsure of what to do.

I backed away, "Sorry. I guess I'll go and get some squid to make calamari to celebrate!"

I couldn't believe it. I was going to learn from the best consulting detective in the world.


End file.
